


It Men

by CateAdams



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: After a difficult mission, a troubling disclosure leads to Kirk’s realization that routines of duty and friendship might be something more. His only regret is that he should have seen this sooner.





	

     James Kirk surreptitiously tugged at the stiff collar of his dress uniform as he stood on the fringes of a large gathering of high-ranking officials in the large atrium of Starbase Twelve. Circulating all around him were beautifully dressed and coiffed beings carrying colorful drinks and engaging in pleasant conversation. The atmosphere was calm and soothing, underlain by the gentle tones of an Altairian spirit choir in the far corner. It was altogether a far cry from where he’d been only two weeks previous, sitting in alien dirt and blood in a ravaged computer room on Ceti Oridni II, yelling desperate coordinates into a damaged communicator while his first officer lay senseless in his arms.

     Jim lowered his hand and glanced down into his half-empty glass of champagne. He’d accepted it while greeting the Federation Undersecretary for Interplanetary Commerce and had gulped half of it to cover his reaction to her unexpected inquiry.

     _And where is your Vulcan partner tonight, Captain Kirk? Your relationship came about in the most romantic way._

     The captain had muttered evasively and excused himself, making his way to the edge of the room and away from her eagerly curious expression. It was only then that he noticed the abundance of curious sidelong glances from passersby, whispers behind hands and thinly-veiled scrutiny. He grimaced and downed the rest of his drink, leaving the empty flute on a nearby table and hoping his sour expression would ward off any further advances. A cold sensation trickled down Jim’s spine, his mind whirling. He was outraged, but not because of the subject of her insinuation. More, he was angry at what felt like a violation of carefully-protected and cherished privacy. He nearly jumped as a voice came from almost immediately behind him.

     “You’re doing a pretty piss-poor job of mingling, Jim, hiding behind this plant. This is supposed to be a party.”

     McCoy’s normal drawl was even thicker, and Jim could smell the whiskey on his friend’s breath.

     “Where’s Spock?” Jim hissed, turning to face the doctor.

     “He’s here somewhere. Why?”

     “Undersecretary Chalmers knows. And I bet that means that the whole goddamn place knows.”

     Bones blinked at him. “Knows what?”

     “You know what.” Jim stepped closer, lowering his voice. “After Spock had to force that meld to get the launch codes and it nearly destroyed him, the only way I could—.” Jim let the rest of the sentence fade away, remembering the smell of death and the sight of the enemy leader’s crumpled body, Spock’s hands still curled around the man’s face. The militant had fought to the end, believing that the scourge of antimatter weaponry that was about to be unleashed had divine purpose. Spock had fought to the end, too, and couldn’t speak, was barely conscious. He could only reach for Jim’s face, pushing the critical information forward in a violent mental wave that had burned into Jim’s brain, leaving something more permanent than either of them had anticipated.

     “They know about our bond,” Jim continued.

     “All of them? That’s impossible,” McCoy exclaimed. “The details of the mission were classified.”

     “Not classified enough, apparently,” Jim muttered crossly. “She called it romantic. Can you believe that? He was technically dead; how many times did you have to shock his heart?”

     The doctor’s face was contorted in confusion. “It wasn’t leaked from my staff.”

     “I know. I can’t believe I let it go into the official log. I shouldn’t have—.”

     “You had no choice, Jim,” Bones interrupted firmly. “I had no choice, and Spock agreed. We can’t just neglect to mention something like that.”

     “And I should have known something was wrong when Command had absolutely nothing to say about it. They never asked me about it, not once.”

     “It’s not against regulations.”

     “It’s also not up for common knowledge! To be bandied about by strangers? You have no idea how—.”

     “Captain Kirk!” The greeting came from an approaching man in an expensive suit.

     “Commissioner Flynn,” Jim responded flatly. He waved a hand toward Bones. “Sir, I don’t believe you know my CMO, Leonard McCoy.”

     “How do you do, Doctor?” Flynn shook hands, a broad smile creasing his face. “Good work. Good work, both of you. I’m sure you’ve heard this already from a dozen people, gentlemen, but your efforts in the Oridni system were extraordinary. You prevented genocide and ushered in a new era of Federation engagement with the colonies there, strengthening our outer territories against Klingon influence. And the number of lives saved will only increase with the treaty’s terms for biomedical collaboration. I mean, the system’s natural resources alone are—.”

     “Excuse me, Commissioner,” Jim interrupted smoothly, “but I was just about to look for my first officer.”

     Flynn nodded immediately. “Oh, Commander Spock’s already waiting for us, Captain.”

     “Waiting?”

     “We just need to do a small bit of media engagement, Captain. You understand, of course. This kind of mission success is what Starfleet’s deep space initiative is all about.”

     Jim gritted his teeth behind his smile. “Of course.” He looked pointedly at his friend. “Please excuse me, Doctor; I won’t be long.”

     As they moved away, beyond the sound of the commissioner’s bright small talk, Jim heard Bones softly swearing.

     The two men walked along the edge of the large room beneath bright banners that paled against the sweeping backdrop of space and the nearby nebula, displayed through transparent aluminum paneling. Somewhere out there was the _Enterprise_ , with repairs proceeding. Jim longed for her familiar bulkheads and routines. And discretion. Even after the turmoil of the last mission, there had been routines. As many times as he and Spock had fallen against the razor edge of near-death, their established dance of duty and friendship, of unique yet deep intimacy, had continued. And with the emergence of the bond between them, duty and friendship had continued: damage control and logistics, treaty negotiations and long hours and McCoy hovering over Spock’s healing.

     Jim frowned. He could barely feel the bond beyond a blurring at the edges of his thoughts, and only if he concentrated on it. It had been worse. When Spock had regained consciousness the first time, Jim had collapsed from the power of shared perceptions. He remembered yelling at Bones and being given a sedative that had done nothing to help. He remembered the slowly dawning look of terrified comprehension on Spock’s normally impassive visage before McCoy had given Jim something stronger. When the captain had awakened again, everything had been reduced to a mere mental tremor and none of them had time for much beyond the mere acknowledgement of what had happened.

     Flynn was continuing to talk, moving his hands animatedly. Jim nodded intermittently in deaf response. _Romantic_. The undersecretary’s word stuck in the captain’s head as he tried to recall the exact language that had been included in the official log to Starfleet. There had been an extensive rundown of the mission parameters and actions, including the militants’ threat to destroy the collective Oridnian colonies and the _Enterprise’s_ bid to thwart them. Spock had directly addressed his choice to use the forced meld on the militant leader as a last option, and McCoy had added a medical brief describing the consequences of that meld on the command team. And it had been, indeed, a _brief_ : efficient, to the point, and full of medical jargon that was the furthest thing from romance.

     “Captain? We’re just in here.”

     Jim looked up, seeing Flynn gesturing toward a set of doors leading off the atrium. Lips pressed in a tight, plastered smile, Jim allowed himself to be waved in, preceding the commissioner to come face-to-face with a roomful of people.

     Applause broke out among those already assembled, and Jim nodded in acknowledgement, clasping his hands behind his back and following Flynn toward the front of the room, where a podium emblazoned with the Federation seal waited. And behind it against the wall, standing stiffly with impassive mask firmly in place, was Spock.

     The Vulcan’s posture was impeccable and his eyes betrayed nothing as he watched his captain approach. Jim had seen his friend like this only a few times before, and always when he was under great personal stress. Deliberately, Jim maneuvered to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing. He imagined that the bond felt warmer when they were closer, but was more concerned now about what types of questions they might now face. Judging by previous experience, Jim knew that Spock was particularly disinclined to reveal personal information.

     Flynn had slipped in front of them.

     “Welcome!” he began, addressing the assembled group. “You all know Captain James Kirk and Commander Spock. Not only are they the highly decorated members of the flagship’s command team, but their actions, and those of their shipmates, made possible the treaty we celebrate today. Captain Kirk will give a short statement, and then we’ll open the floor for a few questions.”

     Jim swore internally and stepped forward. Flynn grinned widely as he moved aside and the crowd politely applauded again. From Spock, there was no motion.

     The captain began, “The treaty between the Federation and the Oridnian colonies was the result of years of subspace negotiations, culminating in the _Enterprise_ being called to the system to finalize the agreement. Unfortunately, our arrival was used a last stand for militant dissidents among both the settlers and the native Oridnians. These dissidents, with alleged Klingon and Orion ties, had been continuously fomenting religious warfare and chaos and were intent on disrupting Federation influence and stability in the region.”

     “Captain!” interrupted a man in the front of the room.

     Jim waved off Flynn’s disapproving motion. “Go ahead.”

     “Are those connections confirmed?”

     “Orion slavers were confirmed to have been in the system when we arrived.  Klingon involvement is not confirmed, but we did find evidence of Klingon technology, like the doomsday weapon that was, ultimately, almost unleashed.”

     “Can you tell us more about that?” a Deltan woman asked.

     “No, not at this time,” Jim demurred. “However, at the end of the day, our mission was successful. The militant threat was thwarted and the system is now secure; the populace is protected. Additionally, the Oridnian colonies are planning to petition for full membership to the Federation.” Jim moved back, standing just in front of his silent first officer.

     There was an energetic murmur in the group as Flynn stepped forward. “Any, uh, other questions?” the commissioner asked.

     “I’ve got one!” a tall human woman spoke up, raising her hand. “Captain, at what point did your personal relationship with Commander Spock begin? What do you think of the message it sends to other militant factions or, alternatively, potential member systems?”

     Jim’s brow furrowed and he drew breath to respond when Spock smoothly moved past him.

     “I have served with Captain Kirk for four years; our professional relationship commenced at that point. There is no message beyond the importance of duty, despite personal cost.”

     Jim had become used to Spock at his most formidable, but the Vulcan’s present, severe demeanor was apparently as effective as ever to outsiders; the room had quieted immediately and the young woman who had asked the question was in the process of swallowing her follow-up. Silence reigned for a full five seconds, and then Spock lifted his chin and simply walked away.

     Jim cleared his throat and nodded hastily to Flynn. “Thank you, Commissioner. I’m sure you can handle any additional questions.” He followed Spock out the door and into the atrium, practically jogging to keep up with the Vulcan’s long strides.

     “Spock, wait!” he hissed, pulling up as they re-entered the reception area.

     The Vulcan stopped immediately, turning to face Jim. His expression had not changed, but his eyes were softer.

     “Captain,” he said. “There is something we must discuss.”       

     “I’ll say,” Jim replied.

     “What happened?” McCoy asked, appearing in front of them and slightly out of breath.

     “We’ve got to talk,” Jim said. He glanced around, where obvious notice was being taken of them. “Not here, though. Come with me.”

     His two friends followed behind as he exited the large room. He had been assigned accommodation in the Starbase’s hotel wing while the _Enterprise_ was being repaired. The walk was quick and silent, and Jim entered the access keycode without fuss, stepping aside to allow the two other officers entry.

     He waited until the door sealed behind them, the lights automatically rising to a low, ambient level. The room was spacious, offering a beautiful view of the nebula, but it felt oddly restricting. There was no motion beneath him, nowhere to go. As Jim looked at Spock’s lowered eyes, he wondered if the feelings were because the room, or from their bond.

     “What happened, Jim?” McCoy insisted.

     “An impromptu press conference,” Jim replied crisply, still gazing at his first officer. “And a pointed question.”

     “Like with the undersecretary?” McCoy said too loudly. “Were you right in thinking that—?”

     “Bones,” Jim interrupted. He swallowed, folding his arms over his chest. “Yes. Our bond, or at least an assumption of our personal relationship, appears to be common knowledge.” He shook his head. “I’m not certain where the assumption came from, though. I thought about it, and the official log doesn’t attach that type of connotation.”

     “That’s for sure,” McCoy said. “Romantic, you said? There was nothing like that in my contribution, to be sure.”

     “And none in mine,” Jim added. “So maybe Fleet wasn’t the source of the leak?”

     McCoy sighed. “Maybe it wasn’t a leak,” he commented. He paused and grimaced, reluctantly continuing, “Maybe it was a culmination of other things, Jim, and this is the first time you’ve been in front of the civilians in a while. Maybe…this is the first time we’ve been anywhere that anyone would ask that type of question.”

     “What do you mean?” Jim finally took his eyes off the silent Vulcan to regard the doctor.

     Another sigh. “Oh, come on Jim. The five-year mission is a high-profile flight. Anyone paying attention might put something together about the two of you.”

     “Something romantic?” Jim asked dumbly. He was waiting for Spock’s logical dissent, which wasn’t apparently coming.

     McCoy licked his lips, eyes shifting between Spock and Jim. “Yes,” he said finally. “Possibly something romantic.” He narrowed his eyes, his stance shifting defensively. “Would you dispute that, Jim? Given what you’ve been to each other over the years? Even just considering what’s gone into the official record?”

     Jim didn’t answer, his eyes moving to Spock. The Vulcan was standing still, eyes lowered, expression unreadable. The background feeling of entrapment was growing stronger. “Maybe,” Jim said finally, his voice almost a whisper. “But—.”

     “The mission reports, including our latest, were not the only potential evidence of an…attachment,” Spock interjected without raising his eyes.

     “What?” Jim stepped closer. “Spock, what are you talking about?”

     “There is a recording,” the Vulcan replied, “of the room where we captured the militant leader and our interaction during the Oridni mission.”

     “What?”

     “It was circulated on non-standard channels, recovered and then more widely distributed without our knowledge.”

     “Oh my god,” McCoy said. “Everything?”

     Spock finally raised his chin, his eyes depthless. “Yes, Doctor. Starfleet was only, hours ago, made aware of the recording’s existence, and I saw the recording myself immediately before it was requested that I attend Commissioner Flynn’s press conference. The media evidently keep closer tabs on gray-band transmissions.”

     Jim stared at his friends, trying to remember the details of those terrible moments. “I want to see it.”

     Spock swallowed, and then turned to approach the computer console at the nearby desk. He sat down, long fingers playing silently across the touchpads.

     “Everything, Jim?” Bones whispered. “The forced meld?”

     “We had no choice,” Jim replied. “A billion lives hung in the balance.”

     “Ready, gentlemen,” Spock said. “The recording is accompanied by a message directed toward other groups resisting radical elements.”

     Jim and McCoy stood behind him. “What was the message?” Jim asked.

     Spock did not answer as before them the screen flickered and then stabilized on a hauntingly familiar room. Jim reached out and grasped the back of his friend’s chair, remembering the acrid smell of that room, bodies already stretched out along the floor, blood everywhere. There was one computer bank still operating, flashing pale lights in the hanging smoke, and, now entering, was the Oridnian Bikeri Smith, the leader of the militant group, carrying a cracked PADD and limping on a broken leg.

     Several seconds of effort at the on-screen console and Smith had pulled up an unmistakable map of the Oridni system, targeting symbols appearing over population centers. A single line of text appeared on the screen, superposing the image.

     _See why we fight. Certain destruction for selfish ends_.

     “That’s the message?” Jim asked.

     “That is the beginning of it,” Spock replied.

     The words faded and Jim recognized this part of the recording, silent as it was. He saw Smith’s frantic typing pause as the man glanced over his shoulder, and then Smith tossed the PADD to the floor, incinerating it with a disruptor blast as the camera shook and the room filled with more smoke. More blasts flashed, and Smith, in process of raising his weapon to his own head, managed only a deflecting shot, gruesomely burning his hair and skin in the process and falling motionless to the floor.

     Jim saw himself burst into the room, mouth moving, uniform torn and filthy and a broken and bleeding nose. Spock was behind him, also battered, also bleeding. The captain’s image ran to the flashing computer bank, scanning, shouting something to his first officer, who knelt next to Smith before shaking his head.

     Jim watched the frantic scene unfold again as the countdown to the deathstorm ran down: his own clipped assessment and attempts to get his communicator working and Spock’s firm but calm proposal. The captain had rejected it with a sharp wave of his hand, turning away toward the damaged computer and then back again to see the Vulcan’s hands already on Smith’s face.

     It had been horrible back in that room, and it was horrible for Jim to watch now, even silently and even with the Vulcan’s living, breathing presence in front of him. It was gut-wrenching to watch Spock’s silent scream, fingers pressing into broken and burned flesh and Smith’s body jerking beneath him in grotesque motions; it seemed to go on forever.

     It was not forever. The countdown was relentlessly proceeding on the computer bank, but Jim’s image had no eyes for it. On-screen, the captain was standing, his hands held out in front of him and a look of unspeakable anguish on his face. On-screen, Spock had screamed again and collapsed to the side, as motionless as Smith’s now deceased body. Jim watched himself fall to his knees next to his first officer, hands grasping desperately at torn, blue fabric, begging. Spock’s right hand had shifted, just slightly, and Jim had grasped it. Did he remember grasping it? Lifting it to his face? The camera caught everything: the emotions crashing across Jim’s expression as he pressed Spock’s hand to the meld points, his tears, his lips moving in now-unrecalled words. And then, on-screen, Jim’s eyes had opened, stricken and shocked. Yes, he remembered that: he had known Spock was dying, maybe even already dead, but he did have the codes. The captain’s image raised his communicator, miraculously getting a signal, shouting into it as he gathered Spock’s seemingly lifeless body in his arms.

     The communicator dropped, the message to his ship complete and the system’s fate pending and out of Jim’s hands, and then the silence was real. Jim watched himself cradle the Vulcan’s body, head bowed, one hand reaching with shaking fingers to trace his friend’s face. No, it had been a caress. It was a caress. A goodbye, his lips pressed to the Vulcan’s forehead as the countdown continued behind them, tears landing on Spock’s skin. He had not remembered that. He remembered not feeing a pulse. He remembered grief. He remembered….

     The countdown had stopped with two seconds remaining, and the camera faded out before the _Enterprise’s_ transporter had taken them away, leaving behind another line of text.

_See the integrity of Starfleet, and the pain they will endure to set you free_.

     It switched to black as Jim made a choked noise into the quiet, his knuckles white where he had clutched Spock’s chair. His previous anger seemed suddenly ridiculous. It may not have been romantic, but it was love, as obvious as anything and right in front of his face. Hidden behind routines and demands of duty, but the same emotion echoing again and again: dangers faced and missions fought through, pain felt and soothed, tears shed and withheld, calm presence and dynamic humor and a need for the other that never seemed to be satisfied.

     McCoy cleared his throat gently. “I can see,” he began brokenly. “I can see how someone might—.” He trailed off. “When I met you in the transporter, you were kneeling next to him, attempting CPR and shouting at me to hurry.”

     Jim forced his hand to drop to his side. “His heart had stopped,” he managed.

     Spock spoke without turning. “Smith’s mind was unusually strong, even for an Oridian. It was his dying effort to keep the codes from me, and a meld continuing across the chasm of death is very…is very difficult to recover from.”

     “Spock.” Jim’s voice cracked, and he shook his head slightly, glancing over at the doctor. “Bones, could you give us a moment?”

     McCoy’s blue eyes studied him. “I’ll give you more than that, Jim. Call me if you need me.”

     The doctor’s footsteps were muffled by the thick carpeting as he left, the slide of the door loud in the silence.

     “Spock,” Jim said again. “I didn’t remember…some of that.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I did; I don’t know.”

     The Vulcan stood in a smooth, single motion, taking two steps away before turning, his hands loose at his sides, vulnerable.

     “The meld had been a last grasp, Jim. To reach you, I had to use everything…all remaining energy, every piece of my _katra_. The bond formed between us consequently.”

     “You said that before,” Jim murmured, shrugging. “Not quite so poetically, though.”

     “I do not know where this might take us,” Spock said, one hand moving in a miniscule gesture toward the darkened computer.

     Jim took in a deep breath and let it out measuredly. “Where should it take us?” he asked.

     “My wish is to follow your lead.”

     “At least you’re consistent,” Jim said amusedly, a small smile playing about his lips. “Despite what seems exceedingly obvious on that recording, what if I said that I don’t know myself?”

     Spock bowed his head. “I understand.”

     “We’re not exactly men of romantic inclinations, are we?” Jim ran a hand over his face. “Or are we? Are you? What would you even say to such a thing?”

     Spock’s eyes met his. “I believe I would say that there are always possibilities, Jim.”

     “You know me and my mind better than anyone else ever has, better than anyone else ever will.”

     “Likewise.”

     “And you’d still want me?”

     Spock tilted his head. “Jim, I have wanted your company since the beginning of our professional relationship.”

     “And how about the rest of me?”

     “You are being…deliberately coy,” Spock said.

     “And you’re being opaque,” Jim countered.

     “I admit that I had not considered it. I dared not consider more than a connection with your mind, which is itself most cherished. I despaired when it caused you pain; when it was not something you had chosen.”

     “And I hadn’t considered it either. I’d never thought…” Jim chuckled dryly. “We’d both played our roles while this grew between us, noticeable to everyone watching but somehow not to ourselves. And yet we’ve still embraced it at every turn, haven’t we? Up until now? Maybe we should embrace this, too?” He paused, glancing over at the blank computer screen. “I’m sorry that recording was released, Spock. Not for what it showed between us, but for what it showed you having to do.” Jim faced his friend. “I know that meld was a terrible thing, and I’m sorry I couldn’t find another way.”

     “It was necessary,” Spock said simply. “It was my duty.”

     “And duty will always be there,” Jim agreed. “But, perhaps, there’s still room for us?” He stepped closer. “I know you’ve seen me look at you, and you’ve looked at me.”

     “I have,” Spock said.

     “You’ve obeyed my orders, even when there’s overwhelming odds that you’ll die in the process. You’ve watched me make choices that might result in my own death.”

     “I have.”

     “And still?”

     “Still.” Spock took a step toward him, and Jim could feel the warmth of the Vulcan’s body. “My inclinations tend to duty and logic, but there is something else that is yet unfulfilled. It is not romantic, as you noted, but it is by no means lacking in truth. I have striven to demonstrate my loyalty and friendship to you.”

     “Friendship?” Jim repeated uncertainly.

     Spock’s expression softened. “In Vulcan, friendship is not a simple thing. And friendship between two such as us is more complicated. I am yours, in every way.”

     Jim met Spock’s eyes, carefully asking, “Mine to touch, to kiss?”

     “Indeed.”

     Jim waited, his eyes searching familiar features, his mind seeking the warmth of their bond. And then he raised his hand, two fingers outstretched in the Vulcan expression of affection between bondmates.

     Spock lifted a single eyebrow.

     Jim chuckled again. “I saw your parents do it. Maybe I’ve not given up on romance after all.”

     Spock’s lips curved in the barest of smiles, his fingers finding Jim’s. “Then by all means, _t’hy’la_ , let me help.”

 

 

THE END

 

 

Author’s Note:  Just a small story to get me back up to speed. Thank you so much for reading!

 

 


End file.
